Born to Kill
by MsNomi
Summary: For Frank. For the old days of Role Playing fun. I hope it will turn out to be what it was meant to be.


I haven't forgotten that I promise you this. This is to say: I am working on it. This story will be continued after I finished with PK's present. Its been almost ten years, I think I can write it the way I want it now.

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**Born To Kill**

CHAPTER 1

Ever wonder what makes a person a serial killer? How many people out there know that many a serial killer is highly intelligent and has rather normal childhoods? Some wanted to be teachers, some wanted to be doctors, and others wanted to travel the world. And I, I wanted to be just like my father. My dad's a private investigator, and one of the best there is out there. One may even say; I learnt the tricks of the trade from my dad, just that I choose to apply it somewhat differently.

This may sound unbelievable, but I have as close to perfect childhood as one can get. I have a respectable father who always made time for me even when he was busy with his work. My mother was kind and loving, the best mom anyone could hope for. I have a very loyal younger brother who loves me very much and literally worships the ground I walked on. Quarrels and fights are rare in our family, and we adhere strictly to an old adage: never go to bed angry. We are indeed a very typical middle-class happy American family.

I spent my teenage years gallivanting around the globe with my younger brother helping our very well-known PI father solve crimes. We caught a good number of criminals on our own, and over time we built reputations as talented amateur sleuths. I and my brother were close, very close. He's the only one in the world I trust totally and utterly. In a sense, he's more than just a brother. He's my best friend, my confidant, and my partner. Over the years, we learned to think alike and work alike where investigating crime was concerned. And one of our teenage dreams was to open a private investigation agency together as we grew up. Given our teenage exploits, we're more than halfway there already.

It makes one wonder what went wrong, doesn't it?

Nothing, really.

We all have to grow up some time and face the real world.

I turned nineteen and went to college. I chose a private college a little further away from home and stayed on campus. Given my perfect score from Bayport High, I easily netted one of the several available full-scholarships on offer. My younger brother joined me a year later and we moved into a private apartment just off campus.

It might have been that one year when I was alone and bored stiff. College life was dull after what I and my brother went through in high school. My under-utilized brains needed some real challenge. Or perhaps I was just a little bored reading and watching all those bumbling criminals committing crimes, making silly mistakes and getting caught. I started to think about what I would have done if I were them.

Somehow, it's the serial killers that fascinate me most. I mean, they could have chosen to commit random killings at random locations and if they're careful, they'd never get caught. That's because without a pattern, the police could not establish motive, and without motive, it's harder to narrow down a list of suspects. And if one is careful never to leave any prints or any other identifying marks behind, one could get away with the murder, literally.

Then I realized it was the challenge that made some of the most successful killers to leave behind clues to taunt their pursuers. It was the indirect attention and adulation from the media that made them leave behind clear-cut patterns. They hid behind the identity bestowed upon them by the tabloid media, and drank in the attention piled on them indirectly by hungry readers. They strove on the challenge of the law-makers sort of knowing who they are without really knowing. It set the adrenaline flowing, knowing that one had tasted the forbidden fruit and had yet to be called in to pay for the crime. It was exhilarating. It was addictive.

My younger brother was the first to figure out that something was wrong. I really should not be surprised. As I said before, we were very close. I do love my kid brother, I really do. But he ignored my less than subtle warnings and poked his nose where he should not. So I had to do something. Sadly, that alerted my dad, and that was the start of a series of very unfortunate events indeed.

The initial confrontation was quietly explosive.

My dad was standing right there at the door to the apartment I shared with Joe staring at the evidence and me in utter shock.

_Why?_ My poor dad asks his fists clenched so tightly it is white and bloodless.

_I have no idea_, I replied truthfully.

_And Joe? Where's he?_ Dad asked again.

_He's still alive, for now_, I answered.

I watched the relief flash across dad's face. It was all so predictable.

_But he won't be if I don't get there to feed him_, I continued most casually.

_He's your brother, Frank_, dad reminded me.

_That's why I haven't killed him yet_, I replied coolly.

I could see Dad's hands shaking with anger and more. I could guess all the thoughts going through his mind. He trained me after all.

_You killed, son. What do you want me to do?_ Dad asks sadly, disappointment clear on his face.

I suddenly feel a twinge of regret. But not for long; Survival instincts rose swiftly to the fore squashing all other emotions.

_You're going to step aside and let me walk out of that door_, I answered back confidently. _And you can call the police and let them know after you've given me enough time to get away._

Dad always prefers to let a criminal go free than to risk a victim's life. I know he will never risk Joe's life. I supposed I should not be surprise that Dad did not try harder to dissuade me or talk me into giving myself up. My dad knows me very well indeed.

_I will find Joe_, dad said before turning his face away from me.

What will happen after that, we both know. But first he has to find Joe, and then he has to catch me. I simply reach out for my backpack and walk swiftly out of the apartment. There is no need to answer back. This is real life, not a B-grade movie. I do not see the need to waste time and effort talking back. There are more important and necessary things for me to do.

And knowing dad, it won't be long before the place be crawling with cops.

But they will find nothing useful in there. I made certain of it. Or shall I say, Dad will not find anything beyond what I left for him to find.

I could feel the excitement tingling up my spine. This is the start of the real challenge; the real race pitting the best against the best.

I laughed softly as I disappeared into the night and head straight for one of my many safe-houses and alternate identities I had prepared in the event of something like this happening.

Perhaps it is true after all that some people in this world are just… born to kill.


End file.
